


Apricity

by kylosprettyeyes (darklavender)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Dominant Kylo Ren, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Game of Thrones-esque, Grief/Mourning, House Organa, House Ren, Knights of Ren - Freeform, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Lady Rey, Love/Hate, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Game of Thrones Characters, Northern Lord, Not Incest, Possessive Kylo Ren, Protective Kylo Ren, Southern Lady, Swordfighting, Tournaments, lord kylo, skinny love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklavender/pseuds/kylosprettyeyes
Summary: : apricity : // The warmth of the Sun in Winter. //There is no one to protect her now.Adorned in black, she stands silently next the body of her mother. She dares not weep - not before the court, not before those who had always thought her weak. Not even with the body of the only person whose love she ever held lying still upon a marble slab, two small rocks with painted blue eyes resting over her emotionless face. ‘How strange that they would paint them blue when her eyes had been so certainly green,’ she ponders. It stings, deeply, the obvious disregard to detail. Had she herself been the one to head her mother’s preparations, the rocks would have shown green irises instead – green like the great pines in the North, where her mother had once said she’d buried a son.





	Apricity

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first official attempt at Reylo. At least, the first thing I've ever posted. 
> 
> WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH MENTIONED IN THIS PROLOGUE
> 
> You have been warned.

_There is no one to protect her now._

Adorned in black, she stands silently next the body of her mother. She dares not weep - not before the court, not before those who had always thought her _weak._ Not even with the body of the only person whose love she ever held lying still upon a marble slab, two small rocks with painted blue eyes resting over her emotionless face. ‘ _How strange that they would paint them blue when her eyes had been so certainly green_ ,’ she ponders. It stings, deeply, the obvious disregard to detail. Had she herself been the one to head her mother’s preparations, the rocks would have shown green irises instead – green like the great pines in the North, where her mother had once said she’d buried a son.

_A son._

_A brother._

Were his heart still beating, would he too have felt the twisting ache of loss in his breast as their mother took her final breath? Would he have sat at her bedside, or stood stoically outside her chamber door? Would he have wept beside her now? Surely he would.  And then she would not be alone in her familial grieving, surrounded by vultures and lechers waiting for the very moment her tears would dry to descend upon her. They would flock to her like pigeons, pecking and scavenging the remaining scraps of her dignity and resolve, all cooing _‘heir’_ and _‘succession’_. 

She dares to dream in this moment, of a brother whose shoulders would absolve her of such burdens. A dutiful Lord, perhaps even a Knight, with their mother’s kind eyes and firm yet gentle rule.  He would be sweet, but stoic. Even a bit tempered at times, much like their mother, and certainly like their father – if mother’s stories were to be believed. Her tales of ‘ _The Lady and The Sellsword’_ had always seemed rather… colorful, even to Rey’s vibrant imagination. She could scarcely believe her regal, refined mother had _ever_ single-handedly slain foreign soldiers.

She smirks fondly at the memory, her lips straining to hide her smile, lest she be accused of rejoicing in her mother’s death.

But as she reaches out to place a gentle hand over her mother’s, she is met with icy skin and bone. Her mother’s warmth is gone, along with her mirth and love.

_Along with her fairytales._

 

 


End file.
